Shattering Control
by Milady Red
Summary: Follow up to first story: Control. Spike decides that it's time for Buffy to lose control. Spoilers for season six. Thanks to my two wonderful betas: Zola and ALizardInCrimson


She was all about control.  
  
He noticed that from the very first.  
  
Nothing threw her, shook her out of that composure that seemed part of her very nature.  
  
It drove him wild, made him reckless. Overturned his plans, broke his concentration, made him disregard the rules. Nothing worked.  
  
She was in control.  
  
She was in control when she jumped. You could have thought it a beautiful sight, the Slayer dressed in black and taupe, hair streaming out behind her. Silhouetted against an energy storm tearing at the night.  
  
It was different when she came back. The easy grace with which she'd carried the world was gone. Stiff and controlled, a marionette, jerking helplessly with each pull of the strings, sagging limply in those brief moments of respite.  
  
The others didn't see it. Refused to see it. Didn't see she wasn't the same. Didn't see her face close up and her shoulders tense with each new confrontation. Didn't see her turning away instead of facing forward. Shutting down. He wasn't blind, though. He wasn't going to lose her again. Not if he could help it.  
  
So he was hard when they were soft, gentle when they were rough, intuitive when they were blind. Pushing limits, targeting weaknesses... anything to get a response. Words were all he thought he had. Blows? Blows came from her, to be dodged, ducked and finally - returned.  
  
He took control. Stopped reacting. Started acting.  
  
He never thought she'd respond like this. He'd anticipated anger, laughter, even sorrow, but need was unexpected. Need, raw and anguished, spilling over him, through him even as she tossed him up against the wall and sank down upon him.  
  
He'd known you could shag the living daylights out of someone but who'd have thought you could shag them back in? When they awoke the next morning, the house lay in ruins around them, its frame barely holding it together. He'd laughed. Metaphor, anyone?  
  
He'd messed it up, of course he had.  
  
Too much, too soon. Rushing what he wanted to say, turning her away from him when all he wanted was for her to let him be there for her, be the strong one for a change. Surrender the burden if only for a while. He should have known it was too much to expect. All too quickly, she was back to the same controlled woman she'd been since her return. Always thinking of what she was expected to be. Never thinking that she could just... be.  
  
Then she came back.  
  
Back to him. Teasing him, taunting him, in control again. Reclaiming the situation before it could claim her. Before he could claim her. Unseen hands, lips, nipping, sucking, biting ... driving him wild, overwhelming his good judgement and rendering him helpless, unable to deny her passion. Making him bury himself, deep, deep inside her even while the voices in his head screamed at him to hold back, hold it together, this wasn't right.  
  
It wasn't what she needed.  
  
He knew what she needed. Knew by the very fact that it was what she gave to him. She needed to surrender control. Needed to get lost in feelings so intense that the world blurred and slipped away. Needed to let her body take care of her mind.  
  
If only for a little while.  
  
"Do you trust me?" he asked, looking for the assent in her eyes. He smiled almost to himself as she nodded shyly.  
  
Then he took her control away.  
  
He bound her eyes. Now he was the unseen one, visible only to those other senses, touch, taste, smell. He bound her wrists, tight enough to restrain, loose enough to reassure. He stripped the layers of her control back one by one.  
  
Softly at first, light whispering touches, flickering over her body, never pausing too long in case she started to expect them. He could feel her skin grow hot and slick with sweat as he continued to touch her, taste her. Lips sliding over her body, licking at the sweat on her skin, teasing the nipples now taut and erect. Flesh touching flesh as he rubbed himself gently against her. He could hear the blood, running through her veins at ever increasing speeds. He placed his mouth against her pulse, sucking gently at first, then biting, soft enough to leave the skin unbroken, hard enough to leave a mark. She was his tonight. At his mercy and she could not deny it.  
  
He took her further, his tongue sliding inside her. He moved on. Nibbling up and around and then sucking hard and fast, his hands moving beneath him to replace his mouth as he moved up her body. He felt her begin pulse around him. He claimed her then, sinking deep, deep within her body as she strained against him. No holding back now. His strength to her strength. His skin to her skin. He was her equal and tonight she was all his. Driving her as he drove himself, always touching, stroking, kneading her flesh as he thrust in and out of her. Showing his mastery by allowing her need to set the pace, her strength to guide, he pushed against her, gasping as she pushed back, her need to touch and taste him finally just as strong as his own. She cried to him, her soft voice rough with passion, begging, pleading words that whispered hotly against his skin.  
  
When control shattered, it was glorious.  
  
After all, it was all about control. 


End file.
